


Spend All Your Time Waiting

by sc010f



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:02:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sc010f/pseuds/sc010f
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Not mine, no money. Special thanks to bluestocking79 and pyjamapants for the betae. Title is taken from Sarah McLachlan, "Arms of The Angel".</p><p>Inspired by <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/selinabln#p/a/u/1/qA-RbqBNeXo">This Vid</a> by the amazing . Sel, this is for you. :)</p></blockquote>





	Spend All Your Time Waiting

The first time you realized you were in love with your boss was the night he kidnapped John Watson.

The first time you did anything about it was the night that he almost lost his brother to Moriarty.

You were sitting with him in the back of the car, watching him: head down, hands on his knees, waiting for the ambulance to drive away. Of course you were going to follow them to the hospital.

"Is there anything…" you started to ask, but stifled the question. Futile.

Your voice startled him, and he looked up.

You will never forget the look in his eyes: haunted, guilty, frightened.

And you did what will probably be the stupidest thing you've ever done and kissed him.

His lips were dry, thin and warm.

You pulled away, certain you'd just ruined your career. The car moved forward with a jerk and you were forced back into your seat.

The silence terrified you.

He didn't look at you or speak to you for seventy-two hours following that moment. Seventy-two hours and forty-seven minutes. When he lurched out of the room where his brother was sleeping with his hand entwined with John Watson's, and clumsily, desperately pressed his lips to yours.

His hands were on you, pulling you towards him as he invaded your mouth with his tongue, swallowing your startled cry as he walked you backwards, pressing you against the wall.

Glorious. Frightening. Painful. _True_.

He broke away, panting, and leaned his forehead against yours.

"They'll live," is all he said before he sagged against you.

He fell asleep in the car and, for the first time in your association, allowed you into his home.

You collapsed on the bed together, wrung out and exhausted, hands entwined in unconscious imitation of the men you left in the hospital.

You never slept so hard in your life.

He was the one who wakened first, who wakened you, kissing your hair, your eyes, your cheekbones, even your nose, before he took possession of your mouth again.

And you responded, pressing your hips against him, feeling his hardness, his want, matching him, desire for desire. You came against his mouth – for the first time in your career, forgetting to call him "sir".

At his climax, he gasped your name. The name that, these days, only he and your mother know.

You lay together in the aftermath, scattered clothing and tangled sheets. He laughed as he rolled over onto one of your stiletto heels and handed it to you.

You wanted to ask if this changed things – if you needed to look for a new position. If you needed to find a new name, a new life.

But he smiled at you, brushing the hair away from your face.

"Trust me," he whispered.

You do.

Now, you still call him "sir" when others can hear you, but when you are alone – and you so often are: the back of the car, his office, your bed – you call him Mycroft.

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, no money. Special thanks to bluestocking79 and pyjamapants for the betae. Title is taken from Sarah McLachlan, "Arms of The Angel".
> 
> Inspired by [This Vid](http://www.youtube.com/user/selinabln#p/a/u/1/qA-RbqBNeXo) by the amazing . Sel, this is for you. :)


End file.
